::TWENTY FOUR::
Her head rests against me for a second longer, her heart racing, before the screams in the hallway come back to us. A whisper in her ear, a kiss, not minding the blood there, as long as it’s not hers.
“We have to go, baby.”
I hate having to let her go. Settle for keeping my hand on her back. The both of us still touching, maybe to tell ourselves it’s real. She’s reaching down, to pick up the weapon she’s dropped, making me remember. Looking puzzled, as I pull her up, grinning at her. Digging the two blades out of my pocket, that I had brought with me from the Decatur. To a lot of women it might make a strange present. Jane lets out a soft giggle. Delighted with them.
“You aren’t using that, are you?”
Pointing to the submachine gun hanging almost forgotten from it’s strap. I hand her that too, helping her adjust the harness at the back. Johnson glances back at us occasionally, his movements graceful. Just enough to make sure that we’re not at any risk. Looks relieved when we both move for the side of the wall, moving back towards the loading bay. Try not to growl, when Jane reaches out, leans into Johnson for a moment, her bloody hand squeezing his arm, before letting go.
Moving down the corridor towards the loading bay, a few stragglers running past, holding hard to the wall opposite us. They’re not going to offer any sort of problem. The bay opens up before us, still no lights. The sound of gunfire from the corridor on the other side of the bay has us all drop a little lower. Pulling to the side, moving down towards the open bay doors. Get Small to send up a flare for the Virago.
“Dufresne.”
Hunched in the shadows, knife out. Looking out across the expanse of the loading bay. Seems the both of us want to kill Dufresne. Not really a surprise. A flash of fire in her eyes, as I hold her by the arm, pulling her beside me, towards the open bay. She’s not going to hurt me, and, as strong as she is, she sure as hell isn’t going to fight me. I want her off this fucking ship. She’s struggling though, not that it’s doing her much good. Johnson’s looking back, looking nervous. He hasn’t stopped moving forward, hasn’t pointed that rifle at me, either. We keep Jane between us, moving out to the loading bay doors, to find Small.
Another burst of gunfire, closer this time. We’re pinned against the wall, the open bay doors ahead. The relative safety of the corridor far behind. Hiding in the shadows, for the moment. Darkness the only cover we have. If the lights come up, we’re dead. A small wince from Jane. Holding her arm too tight.
“Stop fighting me, Jane.”
Johnson, watching us both. I don’t worry about what he’s going to do. He’s not about to shoot me, and not just because he’d hit Jane. She might be a hell of a soldier, but right now, she’s a woman that the both of us swore we were taking off this ship. I could pick her up and carry her off, and he’s not going to say a damned thing about it. She can yell at us all she wants. When it’s over.
She’s not yelling. A deep sigh from her, her eyes flicking to Johnson, who shakes his head at her, before moving further along the wall, towards the door.
“Alright, sweetheart, I get the idea. Just tell me that somebody is going to kill the son of a bitch before this is over.”
Watch her eyes the entire time, as I let her arm go, dropping my hand to her waist instead.
“If it means I come back for Dufresne, kill him later, then so be it. I won’t lose you, Jane…Move…”
Not pulling her this time, her pissed off sigh as we step out into the open making me grin. Stubborn. I like that. Not that it changes anything. Keep my hand on the small of her back. Johnson in point, with her between. Small should be just a few steps away, behind a stack of metal containers on the loading platform. Johnson, sliding along the side of the container, spots him first.
“You’re not going anywhere. She’s being handed over. I spent too fucking long in this assignment already to have it fuck up now.”
Dufresne. Holding a gun to Small’s head. Looks like Jane and I will both get our wish.
Riddick pulls me behind him, at the sound of Dufresne’s voice. Doesn’t do it gently either. I may be a lot of things. Right now, whether I like it or not, whether I agree with it or not, to Riddick, hell, probably to Johnson too, I’m a woman first. Pisses me off. Being pissed off about it isn’t going to change anything. So I stay behind Riddick, easily twisting out of his grasp. Grinning a little at his turning back and growling at me. Probably wasn’t expecting I could do that so easily. Hell, I probably could have done it sooner, but he just would have grabbed me harder and probably ended up really hurting me.
Move the slung weapon into a more useful position, keeping my hands busy. He watches me for a second, before turning forward again, crouched low. Not so much walking forward as stalking, the low growl constant, so quiet I think I’m the only one that can hear it. His knuckles white on the knife, the only outward display of how angry he is. Not with me. If he was angry with me for being stubborn, I think he just would have made me do what he wanted. I get the image of me kicking and fighting, slung over his shoulder, like a bundle of laundry. He’s not angry at me. He’s just afraid for me. So I don’t fight him anymore. Let him pay attention to one thing at once.
“Let him go, Dufresne.” Johnson, his voice flat, calm, deadly. Riddick’s looking back at me again, looking alongside the container, and back up front again. Staying in that same low crouch. Tilt my head to the side, before nodding up to the top of the container. I’m used to having silent conversations. Not really used to having silent arguments, but it looks like I’m having one now.
Riddick looking up front again. We’re still out of sight of Dufresne, and whoever else he’s got up there. The skin’s all bunched up over his goggles, as he debates us splitting up. There are no handholds along the side of the container, and it’s a good fifteen feet. He’ll never get up there quietly without help. Kneel down, interlace my fingers. He doesn’t want to go. I just hold my hands out, not looking up, not giving him a chance to argue. When you’re having a silent conversation, you have to be looking. I stopped looking. Conversation over.
His hand strokes over me, before I pull up, looking up once to watch his dark shape disappear over the top of the container. Move up behind Johnson, at about the level of his waist. Small. He’s got a handgun pointed at his head, it’s muzzle pressed hard against him. His other hand has a hold of a handfull of his shirt. The kid’s breathing in terrified rapid gasps, his chest hitching, fighting tears. Dufresne has known the kid since he was fourteen, was like a father to him for some of those years, once the kid started trusting people again. And now the fucker is pointing a gun to the kids head. Makes Dufresne’s betrayal of me seem almost insignificant. I’m not some poor fucking kid. Just one more D’s going to pay for.
“They’re not going to kill her, Johnson. They just want her to talk. Just talk. Do you think I’d do this if they were going to kill her?”
He’s trying to reason his way out of it. Hell, maybe he’s told the lie to himself for so long that he believes it himself. Doesn’t matter anymore, what he believes.
“If you’ve got her, bring her out now, Johnson, or I kill this fucking kid. Toss him over the side.”
I can hear Small start to cry. My own personal reasons for hating Dufresne just got tossed. I hate him more for what he’s doing to that kid. Inch forward, feeling myself press into Johnson, who doesn’t move. If there was ever a time when I hated being a woman, it’s now. I could push all damned day and not get him to move. Look out over the edge of the bay. Try to keep my breathing shallow, as the grey ghost slides slowly into view, silent. The Virago.
Dufresne’s hands are busy, holding the gun to the kids head, jerking him around by the collar. He’s watching Johnson. Not watching the kid. Doesn’t see the Virago rising up past the lip of the loading bay. He really should have been paying attention to the kid. Small is crying, I can hear that from here, but he looks pretty pissed off too. Flares. He was to signal Franks, when we had Jane and wanted off this damned ship. He has one of those flares now. By the time he sets eyes on the kid, it’s too late. Burst of green light, making me glad I left the goggles on, explodes into Dufresne’s face. Doesn’t kill him, but it blinds him. Sadly, for the kid, it also makes him pull the trigger. Small gets the last word in, refusing to let the Dufresne go, even after death. Falling backward towards open space. Dufresne gets his feet planted before he goes over the side. Ripping the kids’ hands off him, Small tumbles off the edge, freefalling to the atmosphere below.
I drop down behind him, as he turns blindly towards Johnson, firing wildly. Really wanted to take my time killing him. For Jane, most of all. For the kid, Small. For Johnson, now with a bullet in his leg. And for me. “For taking what’s mine.” Before gutting him. It won’t kill him. I want him to live a little. Those few long seconds, before he burns up in the atmosphere, as I kick him over the side, to follow Small.
Franks has the Virago up at the level of the loading bay. It’s going to be an even rougher exit, he isn’t even touching down, just the hatch, lowering over open space. Inches between her and the Epsilon’s loading bay. I don’t know how the hell she’s doing it, where she found the strength, but Jane’s got Johnson pulled back onto his feet, dragging him, his shattered leg hanging dead at his side. The whimper of relief, as I take the weight off of her, pulling him into the Virago.
Not caring that I’m crying anymore, fight my way up front, so that Franks can leave the flying to me. Johnson’s screams echo in the confined space, every one ripping me apart. Franks shouting at Riddick to hold him down. I can’t listen, can’t pay attention. Close the hatch, letting the Virago drift free, ignoring the pinging on her hull, as the gunfire that was focused on the escaped prisoners turns on us. It doesn’t matter, not anymore.
The second ship pulls in fast. A little larger than the Virago. If we were at sea, the wake would have swamped us, she was so close. As it is, I just get a warning light from my angry girl. Shout back, my voice broken, for everybody to hang on. Waiting half a breath, all I can spare, before rolling and going after her. I guess she was the bird sent to pick me up. Take me somewhere and break me. I was playing, in the asteroid field, with Riddick, when we first met. The time for games is over. I was trained to kill. That’s what I intend. No finesse this time. A quick roll, ignoring the yelping in the back bay of the Virago, knowing they’ll hang on, Johnson already secured. Slide in behind the bigger bird, roll again, slipping underneath her, belly to belly. Don’t need guidance systems now. Don’t need to worry about them setting off a decoy, a heat source that will divert the missile. Just roll over, and fire, the missile ripping her apart almost before I get out of the way. A sure and messy kill. Go find a place to hide for awhile, before it’s safe to go home.
I don’t hear him when he comes up behind me. His hands pulling me up, out of the pilots seat. Pulling me to him, holding me tight, while I cried and cried and cried.
copyright © 2006 xxxevilgrinxxx